


Liberty Jones

by hips_of_steel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drug Use, Ghost Alfred, Major Character Death occurs before beginning of story, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred's US of A was beginning to disappear. They could all see the signs.<br/>But when Ivan and Alfred found the little girl who's nation was going to replace Al, they loved her and raised her, giving her the name Anastasia Liberty Jones.<br/>Now Ivan is alone, raising this little girl.<br/>Well, maybe not as alone as he'd like to think...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ivan is sitting in his office when he hears the sound of the large oak door swinging on its hinges. He turns, knowing only one person who would disturb him this late in the night.

"It's no use hiding, Ana."

His four year old daughter creeps out from behind the door. "I had a nightmare, and you weren't in your room."

Ivan stands up and moves to pick her up. Once she's securely in his arms, he asks. "What was your nightmare about, little one?"

"I saw daddy as he went to sleep for the last time. It made me really sad."

Ivan nods. "Those dreams make me very sad as well, Ana."

"I know, so I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Ivan chuckles a little. His daughter wakes up sad and scared, and her first thought is to make sure he’s okay. “That was very nice of you. You’re acting like a hero. Your daddy would be proud.”

He carries her back to her room. She’s heavy, but he doesn’t care. Once he’s got her all wrapped up in the quilt Sofia made for her, she asks another question.

“Papa?”

“Da?”

“Do you think daddy is an angel up in the sky, with wings and that he comes down to watch over us?”

Ivan pauses. “I think that he is still here watching over us as an angel, but I don’t think he’d have wings or be up in the sky, little one. Perhaps Arthur has been telling you too many stories again?”

That small pair of violet eyes meets his, and she pulls up a blanket to hide her smile.

“I knew it! What story did he tell you?”

“One about fairies and angels, and a beautiful princess who got rescued by a prince.”

Ivan shakes his head. “Who was your favorite character?”

She pauses, thinking. “The Prince. He reminds me of daddy.”

“If you were in that story, who would you want to be?”

Once again, she paused and thought. Finally she spoke. “The Fairy Queen. She tells the Prince where to find the Princess, but she also tests him on the way to see if he’s a good person, so in a way, she’s also protecting the Princess.”

Ivan smiles. “At least you aren’t the helpless beautiful Princess.”

“No, that part is boring.”

Ivan chuckles again, and then kisses his daughter’s forehead. “Sleep now, my fairy queen.”

“Da, papa.” She replies as he flips off the lights.

Outside, in the hall, a silver shadow stands, waiting.

Ivan nods. They can see each other, though the shadow cannot speak to Ivan.

He is the only one able to see him. Not even General Winter, who can walk through walls, can see him.

He watches the shadow pass through the door, and after a few minutes it emerges from their daughter’s room, looking sad.

“She is growing up fast.”

The shadow nods, and for a second a smile flickers across his face, only to disappear as he realizes he’s just walked through a small statue. His shakes his fist, partially in mock rage, partially frustration due to his current situation.

Texas sits on his face, even as a ghost, and Nantucket looks like it always does.

Ivan opens the door to the room they once shared, and the spirit slips inside, settling down on and under the covers at the same time.

He finally lays down, facing the spirit. It sighs, and reaches out its hand to touch the side of his face. Ivan does the same thing.

He sees the words the spirit mouths to him.

_I love you, Vanya._

“I love you too, Fredka.”

 

Anastasia Liberty Jones had begun to appear as her father had begun to disappear.

Ivan had watched the riots and strikes slice Alfred down to nothing, until he no longer existed. In an almost peaceful silence, he disappeared from the earth as the nations knew it.

But during those last few years, they had found her.

It was obvious the second they saw her that she was supposed to be raised by both of them. Her violet eyes were the same shade as Ivan’s, and her bright, wheat colored curls could only be Alfred’s, especially since she had a cowlick similar to Nantucket at the top of her head.

They each gave her a name. Ivan had chosen Anastasia, and Alfred had chosen Liberty. Since they had found her in Al’s home, they gave her the name Jones.

They could see what her appearance meant, however.

The opening of curtains that was allowing their Ana to exist was shutting the curtains for Alfred.

Al had tried to hide it, and for three years, he had been strong, carting his Ana around,  and smiling every time she ran up to him, yelling “Daddy, daddy, look!”

But finally the strain became too much.

Ivan was simply thankful that Al’s boss had called and told him that there was not much time left. He and Ana got to spend a few last hours with the man they both loved.

The weeks had blurred together after that. Matthew, Sofia, Natalia and others constantly came to check on him and her, bringing food and comfort, and playing with Ana while Ivan handled the affairs of both Russia and the New Republic of Northern America (he prayed they shortened the name, for he could just see Ana tripping over the enunciation).

For now, with the help of Arthur, he managed Ana’s affairs as a nation. She was young, and he did not wish to force her to grow as quickly as her father had.

But at the same time, he could not shelter her forever. It was her nation, after all.

Eventually, she would undoubtedly come running up to him, crying out in pain, and he would see her bleeding, or clutching her chest as the cries of her people tore through her.

But for now, he would keep her safe from that, because she was his little Ana, and he loved her.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s seven when it finally happens.

He and Al’s ghost are upstairs, reading some paperwork for the New Republic, when suddenly Al tenses up, and mouths something to Ivan.

Ivan only catches the word _‘Pain’_ when from across the house, he hears a howl of a terrified little girl.

Both are out of the room in an instant, running down the stairs.

“Ana! Ana!”

She comes running, tears streaming down her face. “Papa! It hurts, papa! Everyone is screaming, and it won’t stop!”

He sweeps her up into his arms, and quiet Canada, who was watching her today, whips out his cell phone, dialing a number.

“Arthur, it’s Matthew. Something just happened at NR, but I’m not home. I need you to investigate and report back.”

Ivan can imagine the British man saying several angry things, but he knows he’ll do it, because they all care for Ana.

Ivan hauls her up to bed. She’s running a fever, and sobbing.

“It hurts papa!”

“Shhh, it’s alright. Papa’s going to find out what’s going on, and then he’ll stop the hurting.”

Ana clings to him, and he tries to calm her, but it’s not very efficient, because he knows his eyes are blazing with rage. It’s not fair that one so young should have to deal with pain so great.

_“It’s not fair!” Ivan shouted at the sky._

_It only took seconds for the General to appear, shoving him to the ground. “Life’s never fair, little one. Mongol occupies your land, and I bring you winter. That is why you must listen to the lessons I give you, because you must grow strong.”_

_Ivan stared at the man, and then nodded. “What must I do?”_

_The General had taken Ivan’s hand, and guided him away._

_“First, we must teach you to be strong.”_

Matthew eventually comes in, and somehow manages to convince Ivan that he needs to head over to Arthur’s house and hear what has happened himself.

But before he leaves, he turns and sees Canada comforting his daughter, and on the other side of her, Alfred strokes her hair, though his ghostly hands cannot be felt.

_You’re a better father than me, Fredka. I wish she had been the spirit of a New Russia, if only so that you could raise her._

In an instant, he regrets that thought, remembering the bitter past his people have had. How sometimes he had to ignore the pain for weeks, months, or even years, because he had to be strong. How he had the scars from so many bloody wars and conquests. He had even more than Alfred.

As he hurried walked to England’s house, the world bending under his feet, he remembered the scar that in recent history, had pained him most of all.

A small acid burn, on the top of his right hand.

He’d carried it around ever since _that_ night.

Arthur gave the report.

Three cities, three large explosions. No group had stepped forward to claim responsibility yet, but the suspicions were that it was homegrown terrorism expressing its displeasure with the fact that the new nation was a socialist nation.

Ivan snarled. The targets had been low risk cities, or so they had thought, so civilians had been completely unprepared.

Portland, Oregon.

Austin, Texas.

Providence, Rhode Island.

“They’re trying to maximize terror. Three attacks, orchestrated perfectly, all across the nation, on low risk targets, to show that no where is safe.”

“Da, I understand how terror works!”

Arthur raised his hands up a little. “Look, I know you’re worried about Ana. I am too, but you’re not helping either of us here by getting upset over nothing.”

Ivan starts to snap back, but then thinks better of it, sitting down and mumbling in Russian.

“Huh?”

“I wish I had paid more attention. Then this might not have happened.”

“That’s exactly what Al said after 9/11. Listen, it isn’t your fault. We never expect these things to happen until after they’ve already happened.”

Ivan sighs, sinking deeper into the armchair.

“You’re right. It’s just…”

“I know, Ivan. I know.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

They manage to stop the group before another attack can be launched.

Ana  slowly regains her health, but the innocence that had surrounded her was gone. She had known she was a Nation, but she had never known how hard it could be before the bombs.

That was when Ivan truly began to tell her about her father, such as the angry red scar on his left shoulder blade from Pearl Harbor, and the slit down his arm after 9/11.

She listened with patience, and over the years, she learned the story of her father’s missteps, his wrongdoings, but how he had also made the world a much better place.

One night, as she’s thirteen, Ivan comes in from the snow. They travel between the houses, but Ivan always has to stay near Russia when General Winter comes.

Ivan hurries to the kitchen and peels off his gloves, running his hands under the hot water as it comes out of the pipes. There’s a few rust flakes, but he doesn’t care about that.

“You okay?” He hears her ask in Russian.

“Da, just a little cold.”

She fetches a dry hand towel and places it next to the sink. Once he can feel his fingers again, he rubs his hands dry.

“What’s the story behind that one?”

Ivan looks up, confused. “Huh?”

She takes his right hand into hers, pointing at the mark he’s kept hidden all these years. “It looks like an acid burn. What’s the story behind this scar?”

Ivan shakes his head. “You don’t need to know.”

“I know about every scar dad had, and only the story behind a few of yours. Why are you trying to protect me?”

Ivan brushes her hair away from her face with his other hand. “Because you are young, and don’t need to know.”

She grabs his hand, shoving him away. In the corner, he can see Alfred standing there, silently.

“I’m not as dumb as you think! When I ask anyone else about you, they tell me stories. Lithuania, England, France! They all tell me how you used to be. So what is it? From a war? The revolution?!”

Ivan flinches, realizing too late too hold himself rigid. No one has talked to him like this since Alfred died, peeling away the skin to hit the bone, and hit it hard.

He yanks away from her, and up the stairs.

“Father, you have to tell me sometime!”

“Nyet!” He shouts, and then locks himself in his room.

Almost instantly, Al is there, glowering.

“What?!”

_She’s right. She should know._

“Just leave me alone for a while, Fredka!” He manages to keep what he wants to scream down to a low, dark whisper.

Al sighs, and walks out of the room, back downstairs.

A few days later, he leaves the door to his study open. That’s always been an open invitation to Ana.

She comes in, and sits in the corner, doing her homework. Her nest of pillows and blankets seems out of place in the study, mainly occupied by a large desk and a single bookshelf.

Al sits on the top of the bookshelf, and smiles at his daughter. She’s reading Harry Potter. Arthur got her hooked on the series. Ivan believes this is the fifth time she’s read it all the way through.

He stretches, and then peels off his gloves.

Instantly Ana’s eyes dart up, and he knows the question they long to ask.

“You are sure you want me to tell you about this?”

“Da, papa.”

He sighs, and then begins.

“It was July 17th, 1918…”

_He didn’t like the fact that they had made him come. He knew their intentions, and he didn’t agree. The murder of women and children would not make his people happy. Nicholas and Alexandra had been very close to him, or as close as anyone could get. He felt none of them deserved to die, but especially not the children._

_He heard the men laughing as he entered the house, following the man in charge. Downstairs, he could hear the cries of confusion._

_Once more, he looked at the paper, praying that in the last few minutes, the words would have changed._

**_Ivan (stop) I order you to accompany these soldier to Yekaterinburg (stop) and help them accomplish the mission I have given them. (stop)_ **

**_Sincerely, (stop)_ **

**_Vladimir Lenin (stop)_ **

_No. They were still the same._

_He had his pistol on him, but a soldier shoved a rifle into his hands. “Use this for that imperial scum.”_

_Ivan kept silent, but in truth he was barely holding it together._

_They escorted him downstairs. Nicholas’s eyes grew wide, but then he nodded, accepting his fate. Beside him, clutching Alexei close, Alexandra tried to calmly take a last few breaths, and accept her fate as her husband had._

_The five children looked at him, and the older ones understood. But Anastasia and Alexei only looked confused._

_The leader of this group, Yakov Yurovsky, nodded. “You do it first.”_

_Ivan nodded, standing strong, though all he wanted to do was flee the room. He lifted the rifle, aiming carefully at Nicholas._

_“Nyet!” Yakov said. Ivan turned back, confused._

_Yakov pointed, and Ivan felt his heart nearly stop. He wanted to shoot himself, but then when he awoke, Lenin would punish him._

_He turned, the rifle locked onto a new target._

_Alexei looked at him, eyes showing his fear. “Ivan…”_

_He pulled the trigger, and then in the moment of silence, he turned and shot Anastasia._

_The other men took care of the rest, while Ivan sat at the bottom of the steps, panting._

_Then there were the vats of acid._

_Ivan carefully lifted Alexei, setting his small, frail body down into it, and then doing the same for Anastasia._

_He didn’t even notice the burn until later that night, as he stumbled back to his house, trying to use the bottle of vodka in his hand to erase the memory of the deed he had done._

_He remembered stumbling in, and Lithuania staring at him. He was covered in blood, clutching the bottle like it was his lifeline._

_But what had surprised Lithuania the most was that the second he entered the house, Russia had slumped over, and silently began to sob._

_It was the only time he had ever seen Ivan sob._

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ana looked at him once he finished the tale, her eyes full of sorrow.

“Papa, I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago. You’d think I would be over it by now.”

“Nyet, papa. Things like that cut deep, and never heal entirely.”

He looked at her. “When we named you, I wanted to call you Catherine at first. But then you smiled, and the way you did it reminded me of when Alexei and Anastasia were little, and would cling to my legs. So I decided to call you Ana, after her.”

“I thought it was because there were a lot of famous Anastasias in your history.”

“Well, that as well.”

She hugged him, something she didn’t do a lot anymore. That was what happened when children became teenagers.

He held her close.

“I love you, papa.”

“I love you too, Ana.”

 

When she’s fifteen, he starts teaching her how to run her country.

She sits in on the world conferences, and sometimes Ivan and Arthur will hand her the materials they’ve prepared, and have her present it on her own.

Everyone talks to her affectionately, and tells her how good she’s doing.

But when she’s sixteen, Ivan catches her with a needle in her arm. Heroin.

He’s angry, and everyone knows it. Finally, she leaves the house, hoping for a little bit of outside help to help her get rid of her addiction.

Ludwig takes her in, and soon she’s behaving better than she ever has before, and everyone knows it. She learns a lot from the older country, including very strict discipline, how to achieve a balanced diet and the peak of physical fitness, and, thanks to the presence of Italy in Germany’s house, how to make pasta.

But Ivan’s still upset, and glowers in his house. No one knows what to do.

Eventually Ana, now eighteen, just simply takes the cue and leaves, moving out to do her own thing. She settles in the northern border of the New Republic, and Matthew checks up on her constantly. Arthur still helps her handle some of her affairs, but her mindset has really changed since Germany took care of her, and she begins to do almost everything on her own.

At the world conference the next year, she shows up. Her blond hair is pulled back, though she’s left the cowlick alone. She wears a nice shirt and pair of pants, though Arthur had to force her into the dress shoes, instead of the leather boots she usually wears.

She wears Al’s old jacket that he had left with Matthew, and he gave it to her after she’d been clean for a year. The number on the back is faded, but no one cares.

She’s one of the first to arrive. Punctual, thanks to Ludwig. But eventually, she gives up on the dress shoes much to Arthur’s disappointment.

Her eyes stay locked on the door, and finally, the towering Ivan enters the room.

She stands up to greet him, but he turns and heads to his seat before she can.

Ludwig looks up, and can see that she’s shaking with rage, but he watches her swallow it, and sit back down.

They talk about the world issues for a few hours, and then there’s a break.

As Ludwig had arranged earlier, Italy and Romano stand in the door as a convenient roadblock. Ivan tries to slip past the two brothers, but he can’t.

And the second Ana catches his arm, the two brothers move.

Almost everyone exits, and Ana drags her father to the back of the room.

Ludwig sits, watching the two.

He can hear the rapid Russian flowing from Ana’s tongue, and Ivan stares at her.

Her tone gets angrier and angrier, and eventually Ivan turns, rushing from the room.

“Russia, wait!” She calls after him, and suddenly her voice is back to normal, and almost sobbing even.

 

Russia doesn’t show up for the next half of the conference, as no matter who tried to kick him out of the hotel room, he ignored them.

When Ana stands up to speak, everyone goes silent.

“I know that this isn't an important matter, but I’d like to request that from now on, everyone call me Liberty Jones instead of Ana Jones. I know this might be hard for some of you to get used to, but please try to use my middle name from now on.”

They all stare. Was the fight really that bad?

Then Matthew nods. “Well, Liberty, let’s get this conference back on the right track, shall we?”

And then the previous discussion continues.


	5. Chapter 5

She had to say, it wasn’t all that unexpected.

But she’d still been surprised to open up her door one day and find Matthew standing there with a big bouquet and a nervous smile

She’d been around for forty years at this point, though she still looked like she’d just turned twenty. But that was how nations always were. Arthur was basically her grandfather, and he’d stopped aging at twenty-three, for christ's sakes!

But she’d had to say, lately her relationship with Matthew had begun to be more than it had when she was younger. Then he’d been her friend, helping her, looking out for her.

He still was those things, but he was also starting to become more than that.

She just started being in the same place with him more often. Matthew respected the fact that she was still young and unsure, and never pressured her into anything. If he thought he might of, he began apologizing profusely, whether he had or not (he usually hadn’t).

“Liberty, what are you thinking about?” He asked one day, right after a long, loud sigh.

“I miss Papa. But I tried to talk to him over twenty years ago, and he acted like a spoiled brat and refused to forgive me. He told me that was one of father’s downfalls, but there he sits doing it to himself.”

Matthew paused. “Uh, pardon me if it’s insulting, but by refusing to try again, aren’t you doing the same thing?”

Liberty turned, her eyes flashing with anger, and she started to speak, and then paused. “I guess you’re right.”

Matthew sometimes wondered how, with Al and Ivan for her parents, Liberty had ended up so soft spoken. Maybe it was because of Arthur, or Toris, or Ludwig, or even him.

She sat in silence for a while, and then she headed into the kitchen, humming something in Russian, and began to cook.

Matthew left her alone, and finally she came out of the kitchen, carrying a casserole dish filled with something that smelled delicious.

Then he watched her sort through the coat closet, until she pulled out a heavy long trench coat, and then pulled a sweater over her t-shirt as well.

When she started putting on her snow boots, Matthew grabbed his coat.

“I’m coming with you.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright.”

Ivan sat looking at the bottle, half empty.

Over twenty years since he had seen Alfred’s spirit on a regular basis.

Twenty years since he pushed his daughter away.

He takes another swig.

Then suddenly the ghost is in front of him, angrily shouting, though he’s oblivious to what exactly he’s being called. Probably something along the lines of _You damn motherfucking drunk Russian! Go to fucking hell. You PROMISED you’d never do this again!_

He stands, knowing that Al would only be here if she was here. That’s where Al has been the past twenty two years, at her side.

Ivan looks out the window. She’s just coming up the steps, and someone is standing next to her. looking nervous.

He sighs as the doorbell rings, and sets down the bottle.

“Liberty, are you sure about this?”

“No.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Honestly, I kinda have too. I’m here to make sure neither of you dives off the deep end.”

They both fall silent as they hear the sound of someone coming to the door.

Ivan opens it and glares.

“Canada.”

Matthew nods politely.

“New Republic.”

Liberty steps up to the door, and smiles. “Hey papa. I brought some food, Any chance you’ve got a few clean dishes in need of being used?”

He stares at her. Cold violet eyes tempered with the steel of winter meet warm ones with the power of the blazing sun.

Finally, the battle of wills is won.

“Da. You can come in.”

The place is a mess.

Even when she stopped by twenty-two years ago to pick up the last of her belongings, the place was practically spotless. Even barren.

Now, almost every corner was filled with empty vodka bottles. The floor hadn’t been swept in god only knows how long, and spiderwebs lined every corner.

She remembered her fathers arguing when she was little, and Al had still been alive, though just barely.

_“You have to promise me you won’t go back to drinking when I’m gone. Ana needs you. You have to promise me you won’t do that to yourself ever again, Vanya, or I will come back and haunt you.”_

_The heating vent allowed her to hear the rest of the exchange between her parents._

_“Do you think I’d ever do it again, Fredka? You gave me light and hope, and helped me realize that I didn’t need the vodka.”_

_“Light and hope can only go so far before they fall as well. You have to promise me, Vanya. For Ana.”_

_“Fine. I promise to continue abstaining from drinking once you are gone so I can be here for Ana.”_

_“I love you, Ivan.”_

_“And for some crazy reason, I reciprocate the feeling towards you, Alfred.”_

And now she didn’t need him anymore, so he’d went back to his one constant companion for all of his existence.

The kitchen is somewhat decent, at least. The dishes are recently cleaned, and given the fact that they shine, she knows someone else did it.

Ivan stands nearby, half angry, half uncomfortable. Occasionally he’ll twitch his hand through the air as though he’s trying to clear some fog out of his vision or something.

Liberty hands Matthew some plates. “Can you set the table, Matt?”

“Yeah.”

The second he’s gone, she hears the Russian. _“So, you and Matthew?”_

“Da.”

_“He is a good man. Much older than you, but a good man.”_

“Almost anyone is older than me, papa. Even Sealand, though I have to admit, that thought frightens me a little.”

He chuckles, and it’s the first sincere laugh she’s heard out of him in twenty years.

_“So, you are staying clean, da?”_

“Da. I haven’t touched it since the day you found me. West kept me clean, and gave me the push I needed. He gave me many pushes.”

_“It is good to know you are staying out of trouble. Your father is...I mean would be proud.”_

She turns, and sighs, and finally graces him with a response in Russian. _“Papa, I know you miss dad, but you must remember the good times. The bottles… I heard him make you promise to never touch it again, papa. Is that why you ran away at the World Conference?”_

Ivan goes silent, and then nods. _“I was so proud when you told me you were keeping clean, but then… I remembered how I was backing to nursing the bottle every night, and it made me… what is the word?”_

_“Ashamed?”_

_“I guess that is it. So I ran. I couldn’t bear to see the glares of your father’s ghost anymore.”_

_“So all these years it’s been this way is because you’re too afraid to speak to father’s ghost?”_

Ivan suddenly tilted his head, and then Liberty turned, looking straight at the ghost.

_“He says he’s angry with you for not trying to stop again.”_

_“You can see him too?!”_

_“Da, and hear him. He’s always been my guardian angel, even though he doesn’t have wings. He was the one who told you about the drugs, after all.”_

_“You knew? All those years?”_

_“Yes. He said it would be easier if you didn’t know I knew. He told me about all his scars, like you did. He even told me about most of yours, except for the one on your hand. He said that one was the one that you needed to tell me.”_

Ivan turned to the ghost, and then he spoke, though he couldn’t hear the words, and the ghost walked through the table to reach out and stroke Ivan’s face.

_“Vanya, it’s going to be okay.”_ She said, translating the words.

Matthew came back to find Ivan sitting down on a kitchen stool, leaning on the counter, racked by heavy sobs. Liberty stood next to him, hugging him and whispered a string of soft words in Russian.

The next night, they returned, and dumped most of the alcohol in the house. Slowly they managed to cut down the amount of alcohol Ivan was drinking to the point where it was safe for him to stop drinking entirely.

And then, one night, after a week of intensive cleaning of most of the house, they had a small family dinner.

Ivan sat between his sisters, who seemed to be happily filling the empty space with conversation. On the other side of the table, Toris and Arthur sat, quietly chatting with each other.

Matthew sat next to the head of the table, and sitting there, all prim and proper, was Liberty.

Most of the people forgot Matthew was there fairly quickly, but at one point later in the evening, Matthew felt Ukraine tug at his sleeve.

He followed her outside, enjoying the silence. Arthur and Ivan had been arguing over something written in a history textbook, and poor Liberty was trying to mediate between them.

They stood in the cold silence, and then finally, Ukraine spoke. “So, you and Ana… I mean Liberty?”

“Yeah. She said to still call her Liberty, but she’s letting Ivan call her Ana.”

“That’s good. Means she’s willing to open up to Vanya,”

The silence surrounds them again.

“You know that if you hurt her in any way, shape, or form that he’s going to hunt you down and murder you, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve already got that memo a few times.”

She smiles. “Well, then I guess all I can say is welcome to the family, kid.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! A bit short, but I felt that this should be its own chapter.

Ivan watches them all leave.

Last walks Matthew and his Ana. He can tell that their conversation is very private just from how close together their heads are.

He’s all alone.

He heads off to bed, and then remembers who’s been sitting in the silence all evening, waiting for now.

Al looks up at him and smiles.

“I hope you had a nice evening, Fredka.”

“Da. It was very pleasant.”

Ivan freezes.

Al smiles, and Ivan simply stares. “How can I hear you…?”

“Well, it was a simple matter involving a little bit of magic, and a lot of sacrifices for Ana.” Al says, stretching. “You see, when I realized it was getting close to the end, I asked Arthur for a bit of help. He was able to give Ana the ability to see, touch, and hear me, but he only had enough time to allow you to be able to see me before I died.”

“So, Ana thought about it, and we spoke. She told me that she had grown up now, and that there was someone who needed me more than she did.”

“Arthur transferred her magic to you. Ana can only see me now. She can’t talk to me, or touch me, but she can see me.”

Ivan could hardly believe it.

Then he felt the touch of Alfred’s hand. It was not exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold, either. This spirit was, in a strange way, still living.

But most importantly, it was solid.

Alfred smiled. “It’s not exactly the same, but it’s still me, Vanya.”

Ivan picked Alfred up, dropping him back onto the bed, and kissing him. After forty years, they had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Outside,the wind began to howl again, but Ivan’s concern for his daughter was short lived. Matthew was with her, and they had left several minutes ago. They would be fine.

And for the first time in years, he got to hold his husband, his lover, his reason for existence.

And at that moment, that was all that mattered. **  
**


End file.
